Something's Gotta Give
by magnifly
Summary: Pre-series AU: What would've happened if Lilly Kane hadn't died and Veronica was still raped at Shelly Pomroy's end of year extravaganza party? (More detailed summary available inside.) LoVe. Mostly introspective but not without it's dialogue. Logan's POV. Warning: Mentions of rape. Aftermath in the wake of.


_Pre-series AU: What would've happened if Lilly Kane hadn't died and Veronica was still raped at Shelly Pomroy's end of year extravaganza party. Unestablished LoVe, single Veronica, single Logan. In the months since Lilly and Logan's final break-up and the abrupt change in Duncan's_ _demeanour as a whole the fab 4 had drifted, particularly Logan and Veronica. He has his reasons, illegitimate as they might be but they're all thrown out the nearest window when he sees her hobbling that disastrous Sunday morning._

* * *

 **Something's Gotta Give**

 _"Woke up in a stranger's bed, pins and needles in my head..."_

* * *

Logan woke sprawled out across the back seat of his X-terra, pants haphazardly pulled up and belt buckle undone, it's jingling part and parcel of the jackhammer cacophony assaulting his head and resulting senses. The morning after a backseat revenge blow, even all these months later without any remnants of the warm and fuzzies he'd felt for Lilly Kane she still knew how to get under his skin, pick apart his insecurities for sport. Sometimes it was impressive, on bad days it served to prove his own ineptitude and his father right. He often had bad days, these days and she wasn't even here this weekend. As a matter of fact, neither was he. He didn't remember the freshman's name, Cindy? Possibly Sarah, he'd ask Dick if it really came down to it.

At the sound of nearby trudging and scraping he risked a peek out of the window, sure to catch someone in a walk of shame he could rail them endlessly about. Probably Dick and if not, Casey — finally off the leash of Angie Dahl. He did not however find who or what he expected. Someone was walking alright but he was the only one feeling shame, shuffling past a messy sea of abandoned cars was Veronica Mars. Long blonde hair matted, curls stuck up in unnatural directions with a mixture of sweat and things he'd rather remove his own eyelids than know about. Her dress was dirtied and a strap torn, she used one hand to hold up the bodice and another to hold her shoes, and god help him _her underwear._

They hadn't had a real conversation in months, after Yolanda and whatever the hell happened with Duncan the previously Fab Four had drawn lines and picked sides. Logan with Duncan who to this day refuses to admit why he broke up with Veronica in the first place, but he thinks it had to've been bad because he can't think of a single reason anyone in their right mind would let a girl like her go. The aforementioned tiny blonde with his ex-girlfriend. He shouldn't have expected anything less, they're best friends but it still hurt in ways he'd rather not analyse that she'd so easily give up on their friendship. Sometimes though he supposes that he did too.

In seconds none of it matters. The last few months, his residual anger, none of it because she's limping and clearly in pain and he knows like he knows the sun rises in the east that whatever happened last night was not consensual, not for Veronica. His heart catapults into his throat and his stomach drops through his ass as his mind makes a catalogue of all the various horrific scenarios that might have befallen his friend while he was getting a goddamn head job. She would _never_ he knows that, not with someone who isn't Duncan even still — _Duncan who isn't here, Duncan who's in Napa with Celeste and his witch of a sister._

Rape.

The singular thing running through his head as he burst wobbly but adrenaline filled out of the car, feet pounding painfully against the pavement while his body begged him to keel over and give into sweet gastrointestinal release. He's definitely hungover maybe even still a little drunk, it's early and he's running entirely on fumes but he won't stop until he reaches her. Limping he can see, shaking too, undoubtedly in his mind she has to be crying. He yells out to her uncaring if he wakes Shelly's neighbors, he needs to know Veronica's okay. She doesn't stop, turn around or so much as hesitate at the sound of his voice which is grief stricken even in his own ears. Quickly he thinks better of if, he doesn't know what her night was like and part of him never wants to but the other needs to with exceptional vigor, he needs to know who he's going to jail for downright murdering.

 _She could've heard screaming all night._ He thinks. _The assailants, her own. Screams, cries, calls for help. Moaning, grunting, threats, laughter, coming._ He's sure he's going to vomit.

When she stops at her car he's able to breathe again, then finally catch up to her. He wishes neither of them did. In big, ugly, white block letters on the back windshield **SLUT** is written, with both right right tyres slashed and he has to contain the urge to scream again, to hit something and relieve the quick steady building anger.

 _How could anyone do this to her. To Veronica._ His Veronica, Duncan's, Lilly's. He's heard the stories, they all have. Hell, her dad's the Sheriff.

 _ **Her dad's the Sheriff.**_

He thinks at any moment now she's going to collapse in tears, he knows he would but instead she keeps on walking or she tries, barely making it seven steps before he jogs after her again. This time blocking the path ahead, facing her. He wants to gather her in his arms and never let go, to protect her from everything. If he didn't have proof before he does now, this place — _this world_ is a vile hellhole and a girl as bright as Veronica shouldn't be expected to grace it. He's never seen her look as dark as she does right now, in this moment. He settles for resting his hands on her upper arms softly, palms itching to reassuringly caress the expanse of exposed skin but she looks like she's going to be sick all over him from the already present meagre contact and he understands. Theoretically. Common sense indicating skin to skin contact is likely to be the worst thing for her right now he retreats, whispering to her because he's not sure he could raise his voice anymore without an audible crack.

Her cold tear tracks are shiny and clear in harsh Sunday morning light, sticky and tinged with the remnants of mascara that hadn't been sweat off. He valiantly tries to convince her to get in the car with him. He promises to take her anywhere she wants to go, Sheriff's Department, hospital — she shakes her head but he already knew they'd be a no go. Not possible with her surname, no anonymity. Still he tries, promises of her house in the comfortable 07 district, her warm bed, mothers special made tea. Again she shakes her head no, mumbling a few words about her parents, some Aunt in Palm Springs (they'll be back Tuesday) and missing house keys. He's angry at first, that they'd leave her alone but knows better than most that beneath her shiny veneer is a warrior. Veronica can handle herself. He too knows her dad got her a taser for her 16th birthday and more than likely forbid her from leaving the house after nightfall. Plus he's the Balboa County Sheriff, it might not hold the same influence as his own father's riches but it was surely something, particularly to the miscreants of Neptune, California. Logan's sure that even the most deranged would think twice before coming after Veronica. The love Keith Mars has for his daughter holds no bounds and everybody knows it, just as they know that the wrath the populis as large would face if she was ever hurt is something nobody would ever risk bringing upon themselves. This is how he knows she won't tell him, anyone at the Sheriff's Department for that matter. Veronica won't have her dad thrown in jail for murder, she'd rather silently self destruct. He's not about to let her do it on her own.

"Logan," her soft timbre voice breaks him out of his reverie. "Can we just go back to your place." She's so quiet he almost misses it but is more than happy to oblige. Parental negligence bordering on the criminal was sure to show its advantages some time, like when one of only three women you've ever loved is psychically assaulted and needs some privacy. He wants to hit something, kill someone and be sick all over again but this time Veronica beats him to it. She's on her hands and knees retching before he can make heads or tails of the situation. He quickly kneels beside her, hesitating for half a second before scooping the curtain of long hair away from her face and chunks of god knows what — because she can't remember. She's thankful for that at least. He rubs innocent circles on her back in the hopes of reassurance but instead she vomits again.

He can't get her in the car, won't try to anymore. It's too small, too confined. Instead he walks her through the desolate, early morning, upperclass streets. Willing to give her space but not leave her completely alone. He's afraid of what she'll do in a way he never had been before but he'd never thought anyone could do this to her either. He wasn't going to risk it.

When they got to the Echolls mansion he led her directly to the pool house, willing to bet good money she was about as ready to face his parents hired help as he was Mrs Navarro and her Spanish Inquisition. He sat her on the bed at first, she remained stoic while he gathered like a pack rat.

 _Water - check_

 _Blanket - check_

 _Jack Daniels - check_

Logan took her into the bathroom attached to the conjoined bedroom next, hidden from skulking paparazzi eyes or nosey maids. He made quick work of pilfering the medicine cabinet but came up empty with the exception of a few of his mother's make up removing wipes. Veronica now sat on the closed toilet just as stoic as she'd been on the bed. He thinks he prefers her tears to the silent numb permeating every inch of the room. He knows how to console a crying girl, get through to a crying girl. Logan knew he was in over his head, he also didn't care. He'd gladly drown and drown happily if he was keeping her head above water. Softly he wiped her face but her makeup went nowhere fast. Upon this realisation he offered her the shower, receiving only a nod in confirmation but it was more than he'd gotten in the last hour. Unnecessarily he showed her to the towels and guest toiletries, both of them knew she already held the knowledge, neither said anything until he went to leave.

"Thank you." Veronica whispered, hazy blue eyes meeting that of sharp chocolate warily.

"Always." Logan replied sincerely. "I won't be far." She turns on the shower and he takes it as his queue to leave, closing the door quietly behind him. Afraid of loud noises and sudden movements for the both of them.

Veronica's been twenty minutes when he realises she needs something to wear. He doesn't want to leave her but there's no way in hell she can put that dress back on. With all the speed and agility a hungover surfer kid can manage, he bounds across the manicured lawn and to his parents room, pulling out a pair of his mother's yoga pants that are likely to long for the petite blonde before making a beeline for his own room. He decides on a warm olive green Henley, a top he remembers her commenting on. It feels like yesterday and a million years ago all at the same time and right now he can't risk remembering how a stupid comment about a stupid top made him giddy like a teenage girl, not in the wake of the night before. Still he chooses it, taking a pale grey sweatshirt with a white logo he can't be bothered reading on the back for good measure. The shower is still running by the time he reaches the pool house again but now he can hear her sobbing. Vivid images invade his mind, he couldn't unsee them if he tried. No tequila was strong enough to wash a way his memories of the day or the things his imagination has conjured up to fill the holes in her untold story. In his mind's eye he sees her body wracked with painful sobs, her skin red raw — the aftermath of trying to scrub memories from your skin.

For twenty-five more agonising minutes he sits on the edge of the bed, feet tapping the floor nervously. By now he's sure the waters run cold. Lightly he raps on the door and informs her about the clothing, leaving it in a neatly folded pile beside the door.

"I'll just be outside on one of the sun lounges, you can change in the room." He offers. "Come get me when you're done."

Not fifteen minutes later he feels her crawl onto the lounge with him. Her wet hair drips and splatters but he doesn't care. Vaguely he registers the smell of his own shampoo and soaps wafting from her — mixed with the indefinable scent of Veronica as she finally unleashes and cries anguished tears into his side. He slides an arm around her back, manoeuvring her closer and more comfortably, lightly stroking her with soft, barely there fingers. Her knuckles are white where they tightly fist the material of last night's wrinkled top. Any other visible skin is as red raw as he imagined. He's sure he reeks of booze and sweat and other things that can't be helping but he can't remember the last thought he had about his after-party-state, it wasn't important.

They fell asleep that way, her hair chilling them both but with the warm SoCal sun beating down on them, even in cold weather it was warm. When he woke, more well rested than he ought to be Veronica was nowhere to be found. There was a piece of paper sticking out of his pocket that hadn't been before and when he read it he could've sworn his heart picked up double time. Simply, it read:

 _I'm sorry - V._

 _Sorry? Sorry for what!?_

His mind drew a blank on answers of any logical or founded sense. After today he knew for a fact that anything could happen no matter how unlikely that seemed. He raced to the garage, picking one of his fathers least gaudy cars and takes off in the direction of the Mars residence, if she's not there he'll go to the beach, then Amy's, then he'll drive until he finds her because Logan Echolls isn't in the business of doing nothing. Never had been.

Logically he knows Veronica wouldn't off herself, not the version of her he knows, not the one he knew before she dated Duncan — all fire crackling laughter and knee socks. He doesn't know how this Veronica, the one that was violated will deal with the pain.

 _How do people deal with it._

All he could think was _they don't._

Several unanswered phone calls later and a near miss with an amber light, he couldn't hide his relief when he got to her house. All the lights were on, Veronica's car wasn't there but he hadn't expected it to be. Instead in the driveway was Keith Mars police cruiser and Leanne's trusty Volkswagen. The light to Veronica's bedroom was a beacon of hope but not a definite certainty. He got out of his car, not bothering to lock it in Veronica's modest neighbourhood. Keith opened the door after the first knock and he found himself unravelling.

"Hey Mr Mars, is Veronica home?" Keith nodded affirmative and it was like seeing double. _Daddy's Girl._ He told Logan that she wasn't allowed out past 10pm on a school night and he did a double take, not having realised in his mad dash how long they'd stayed curled up in each other undisturbed. The Sheriff looked too chipper to know what had happened to his baby girl and Logan wouldn't dare say, not if she didn't want him to know.

"I thought you guys were in Palm Springs?" Logan inquired, hoping he didn't sound as guilty and obvious as he felt. He was more than off his game today. Had no sarcastic quip or wit to speak of. That if nothing else would throw him off.

"Y'know what they say, crime doesn't go on vacation." Keith responded. He'd always gotten on reasonably well with Logan, particularly when he didn't have to worry about him making moves on his daughter but something was off about him tonight. "I'll tell Veronica you stopped by."

"Thank you sir."

With that Logan was off, unable to force himself past the Sheriff who was truly more terrifying than anyone gave him credit for. He called Veronica one last time but again, was sent to voicemail.

 _Shes okay, she's at home, with her dad, with her mom. She's okay. I'm_ _okay._

The next morning Veronica woke up to find her Le'Baron spic and span parked in the driveway. On the driver's seat there was a note.

 _Don't be - L._

* * *

General disclaimer: I own nothing, if I did I would've hit up a lot of rich people for donations to the Veronica Mars Fund by now. Bill Gates perhaps.

(I also don't own Something's Gotta Give by All Time Low. Thanks for the loaner though.)

A/N: Another unbeta'd piece, as all my works are. (Forever re-reading to correct mistakes, sorry.) It's probably miles OOC but I'm working on it, still relatively new to writing in depth VMars pieces. If anyone wants to see more of this let me know, I have a few story lines mapped out. Also if you check out my profile you'll notice I'm taking requests. PM me if there's something you want to see and haven't or have and want to see again, AU's or altered canon with some parameters and I'll give it a ago.

Thanks for reading - H :).


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